BendBreak
by OnlyTimeTells
Summary: Mizusawa Taku just can't handle it anymore. His parents, his teammates, his sexuality, stupid freaking Akabane. All he wants to do is gymnastics. All he HAS is tumbling. It's the only thing holding him together. Pre Ryo/Taku. Rated for violence
1. Chapter 1

Not my first fan-fic, but truly my first endeavor into Tumbling territory. I will indeed try my best to keep the personalities of the characters as close to the originals as possible and appreciate feedback if you think there are things I could improve on (if readers of this fandom still even exist). See bottom note for Akabane explanation.

Oh, right…and for some reason Yanagishita Tomo just gets the brunt of the angst and violence in all my stories. Sorry about that…but not really. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW! Wow, that wasn't desperate at all.

Part 1 of 3

Mizusawa Taku was no stranger to bad ideas and unfortunate situations. Letting Azuma Wataru and his gang onto the team was both of those things. And yet, for some reason that defied logic, everything just…worked out. They survived the fights, the injuries, the arguments, the…his…problem. And Taku couldn't help but think of his sexuality as just that.

It had been drilled into him over and over again that it was wrong for boys to like other boys, and every day he hated himself a little more than the previous ones. Only when his body fell into those natural rhythms of movement was his mind clear, free of the guilt and the anxiety that haunted him along with the stigma of "homosexual." Luckily, his teammates had accepted him more quickly than he thought they would, especially with how disgusted Kiyama must have felt after…he found out. And Mizusawa sincerely wished that Kiyama would have never, ever found out, only because he didn't want to sicken him with the knowledge of being liked by a boy.

The only one who Mizusawa could visibly tell was uncomfortable by his proximity was Ryosuke, and even though it hurt, Taku understood. He hated himself, of course others would feel the same way. Even his own parents…he slumped a little as yet more feelings of hopelessness creeped their way into his midsection. He knew…maybe…he should talk to someone about it. But…that's not how things in his family worked. If you had a problem, you dealt with it, and any external interference was shameful. If his parents knew he'd already been outed at school…it was a fear too great to be contemplated.

"I'm…I'm home…" Taku announced softly as he slipped off his shoes and replaced them with house slippers. He settled, ears straining for any sign of occupation, and heaved a sigh of relief when he heard none, trudging up the extended staircase to his room, a space so devoid of his own personality that he considered it a place to sleep in, but not…home. Deviation from perfection was looked down upon, as was individuality and expression. Mizusawa was to always…do what was good for the honor of the family. Tumbling was their only allowance, as Taku had attempted suicide when he was not allowed to practice. They'd rather he'd tumble than cause an even bigger scandal by daring to take his own life and smearing the family name.

Tumbling, and perhaps his small circle of friends, was all he had.

He carefully placed his school bag next to the pristinely organized desk, and then collapsed into the king-sized bed with impeccably tucked hospital corners. They'd attempted a new move that day in practice involving a spinning back tuck and multiple mat tricks, and Taku could feel several small, dull aches where bruises would no doubt be the next day. He, of course, had done every move perfectly, but Wataru, Kiyama, and Nippori had a wider learning curve. Which wasn't to say that Taku minded the pain. No, pain was fine, because it happened while he was doing what he loved, surrounded by people who loved it too.

Mizusawa smiled. Ryosuke was getting especially good. He'd have to watch out, or there may soon be some real competition on the team. His frown soon returned, however, as he thought of how Ryosuke looked at him with narrowed eyes. _I'm sorry, Tsukimori…I…I wouldn't be this way if I had a choice._

A soft knock startled Taku upward. "Mizusawa-sama? Your father has asked for your presence in his study," the maid said kindly, looking at him with sympathy.

"Al…alright, Sakimito-san. I'll be right down."

Taku combed desperately through his recent memory, looking for whatever could have possibly made his father angry, but came up with nothing except, once again, his tumbling and his sexuality. Then again, he supposed his father didn't even really need a reason. Taku was just inferior as a son.

Mentally preparing himself, he climbed out of bed, then rearranged his slightly-askew school uniform, smoothing wrinkles, checking buttons, and then glancing at himself as he passed by a hallway mirror for reassurance. _Physically…this is as close to perfect as I can be. And yet, I know…he will always find something._

Unconsciously clearing his throat, Taku used two knuckles to rap lightly on the mahogany door, getting a gruff sound as a response that he took to mean "Come in, and hurry it up, you useless thing."

His father stood behind an impressively large desk, in front of an even more impressively large collection of rare volumes on a dozen completely filled shelves, each of which his father had read and no-doubt memorized, down to the publication date. Hands clasped behind his broad back, Mizusawa Moritaru stood an imposing, regal figure at a hundred and eighty three centimeters tall, night-black hair still full on his head, muscles from constant training straining against the fabric of his suit jacket. His service revolver and handcuffs he had placed conspicuously near the desk's corner, for some reason continuing to arm himself even though, as commissioner, he never had to leave his office at the station.

"Close the door, Taku," his father said quietly, but Mizusawa couldn't help but flinch even though the words themselves were soft-spoken. He often wondered if there wasn't some switched-at-birth accident that led him to live this life, but he knew he looked too much like his petite mother for that to be the case. Mizusawa, albeit reluctantly, shut the door, effectively cutting himself off from the rest of the world. With its thick walls and layered insulation, the study was soundproof. So as not to disturb his father when he should feel the need to work.

"I contacted the school for a briefing on your scholastic progress," he continued, turning around, and Taku couldn't help but be struck by the insanity of this situation. Normal people would run as far away as they could without stopping, and yet here he was walking into the lion's mouth of his own volition. "I was informed that your grade in English has dropped by a point."

_Of course. Of course it has. But why can you never mention how my Japanese has risen by two?_ "Forgive me, father," Taku ducked his head hurridly. "But…but it's still…ninety-eight percent…" he tried futilely.

"Mizusawas do not strive for…ninety-eight percent," his father spat out, as though the words left a disgusting taste in his mouth. "We aim for perfection, and each step should bring us closer, not further away." He shifted from behind the desk, maneuvering around to sit on top of the front surface. "Tell me how you plan on correcting this."

"Father, I…I swear it will never happen again!"

"Of course it won't. But that wasn't what I told you to do."

"I…I'll work harder! I'll…I'll move it to one hundred…I…" Taku's throat closed up as his father moved from the desk to stand in front of him, offering him a murderous glare before his large hand lashed out, catching Mizusawa's cheek with enough force to knock him to the ground, though it was only open-handed. Taku didn't dare move as his father looked him over with disdain, though the urge to touch his burning cheek was strong.

"And why weren't you doing that before?" his father hissed, giving what, for a man of his size, could be considered a half-hearted kick to Taku's midsection, but the teenager's air was still knocked right out of him. "I still don't understand how I could have a son like you," he sighed, before stepping over Taku and exiting the room.

"I'm sorry…" Taku whispered miserably to the air. "I'm so sorry…"

Pulling himself up from his prone position, Taku fought to keep the tears in. He didn't need yet another thing for his father to berate him about. He shuffled to the open door, peering around it, and making a break for the stairs when he found the hallway devoid of any house staff. It was a spontaneous decision, but he decided that he needed out. Just for tonight, just to get away for a few hours. Slinging a jacket over his arm, he left the house as quietly as he had entered it. And just as then, no one noticed, except for the ever-vigilant Sakimoto-san, who held a place in her heart for the boy she had practically raised.

/

Akabane Reiji was rarely alone. Alone, he didn't have power, wasn't able to command the attention that he deserved, wasn't able to show everyone his strategic brilliance. He hated being alone. It didn't suit him. He expressed it by madly scattering the loose gravel in his path, kicking it as though it had done him some wrong by being underfoot. Looking down and not paying attention, he crashed directly into a smaller form that also had _its_ head down, growling like an injured animal, though he was sure whoever he hit got the worst of it.

"Oi! Watch where the hell you're going!" he yelled, smirking when the other form gave a slight jerk of its body. "Wait a minute," he began, as recognition took hold.

The other person tried to move aside and continue on his way, but Akabane gripped his shoulder in a crushing hold. "If it isn't gay boy from the gymnastics club!" Akabane smirked gleefully, slightly upset that the smaller boy wasn't showing fear anymore. If he now recognized Akabane, shouldn't he be more scared? Definitely not less, like he seemed to be.

"Let go, idiot," the boy said quietly, and Akabane practically seethed with rage, slinging an arm around slim shoulders and catching the boy off-guard in a choke hold.

"What the hell did you just say to me, gay?" Akabane yelled, cutting off the air supply just enough to make the kid's vision go blurry around the edges. As he admired his work, he noticed a stark handprint that now showed white on the teen's blood-flushed face. "You and your boyfriend get in a fight?" Akabane snickered, nevertheless loosening his hold just slightly.

"Shut up," Mizusawa choked out. "Idiot," he added.

Akabane's face screwed into a comical display of anger, pushing Mizusawa to the ground, where the gymnast proceeded into a perfect roll, afterwards righting himself into a standing position. Akabane ignored the flashy display. "I was right, huh?" Akabane pressed. "Or maybe you like being slapped around, is that it? You like those kinds of things?"

"You must be projecting, Akabane," Taku said flatly, turning to leave, when he pushed to the ground once more, this time unexpectedly, so he wasn't able to catch himself. A hand automatically curled around his middle when he hit the gravel, the other around his head, as he prepared for an assault.

"How many times you get the shit kicked out of you that you know how to react like that?" Akabane scoffed, withdrawing the leg that was, indeed, prepared to start kicking.

Taku said nothing, making to sit up and carefully brush the dirt off of his now-bleeding elbows and forearms. Then he froze, thinking. Why should he even bother? He deserved it, right? For being gay, for being a failure, for being stupid, for breathing. "Would you mind getting it over with?" Taku asked quietly. "Here, I won't even fight back. Will that make you feel better, make it easier for you? Just do it. I don't care anymore."

Akabane was taken aback. "Why the hell do all you fucking tumbling idiots _want_ to get fucked up all the time? Ruins my fucking mood every FUCKING time, dammit!"

END PART 1

So I always thought Akabane was kind of closeted, given the way he was so obsessed with Wataru. Go ahead. Go check it out. It's totally true. Though he's so far down in Narnia, I don't think he's ever comin' out of that particular closet.


	2. Chapter 2

Wow! Tumbling is ALIVE! Hahaha, thanks for all the support, guys!

Part 2 of 3

"Tsuuuuuki!" Mina whined as she yanked on his arm in what he guessed was supposed to be a cute manner. "You keep looking at all the other girls passing by! Don't you think I'm sexy?"

Ryosuke couldn't help the little snort that escaped from his nostrils, and the girl clinging to him narrowed her eyes, now legitimately upset. "What the hell?" she huffed, releasing her death grip and turning her pert nose up at the air. "Whatever. There are so many better looking guys out there who'd die to have me be their girlfriend."

"I highly doubt it," Ryosuke chuckled, reveling in this unusual streak of honesty.

Mina's mouth dropped open.

"Look, I like someone else. We should break up," Ryosuke announced blandly, pulling a thousand yen note from his pocket. "Here. This should be enough for a taxi. See you around." He winced at her animalistic scream of rage, the bill slapped from his hand as she stalked off, underwear clearly visible from the back of her barely-there skirt. Ryosuke sighed and retrieved the money, putting it back in his pocket. No sense letting it go to waste.

People bustled all around him, pushing and shoving in the chaos that was the mall at night, where teenagers went to escape school and their parents, where husbands went to escape wives, and vice versa. Screaming, and laughing, and crying. Ryosuke liked to get lost in the noise, to become part of that teeming mass of emotion and color and energy. He like being a part of something. Usually. But not tonight. Tonight he felt on edge. Unstrung. Unsure. He didn't like it one bit.

He fought his way to the exit, carefully monitoring his wallet and phone at all times. One never knew in crowded places when thieves would strike. Not that he had much, just a few thousand yen and his phone which was a really old model because he couldn't afford anything better. But still, it was his, and he wasn't going to lose it to carelessness.

The night was oddly cold, yet Ryosuke could feel droplets of sweat winding their way down the back of his neck and into the collar of his shirt, the one he'd been wearing under his uniform and hadn't bothered to change before his date with Mina. Absentmindedly, he rubbed at the steadily dampening hair, grimacing and wiping the liquid on his jeans, worn and riddled with holes. Goosebumps climbed steadily up his bare arms.

"Just not my day, is it," he mumbled, rubbing his hands together to try and supply some friction. "Ah, well, they can't all be."

Slipping into a less-traveled alley, Ryosuke slowly made his way back to his apartment, making sure to avoid gang territory and police boxes, both of whom he considered equally bad news. Just as he'd cut through the park to avoid a squad car, he paused, squinting into the darkness as he noticed two hazy figures, one on the ground, the other towering over him. "Not my business…" he whispered, guilt twisting his insides, but survival instinct winning out.

"Why the hell do all you fucking tumbling idiots _want_ to get fucked up all the time? Ruins my fucking mood every FUCKING time, dammit!"

Ryosuke froze. No. No way.

Turning back around, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste, he peered from behind a large metal play-dome and watched in horror as the person he now recognized as Akabane kicked the person on the ground in the face, causing the person to let out a cry of pain. More worry and nausea settled in the pit of his stomach, and panic sped up his heart rate to dangerous levels. No way could he take Akabane by himself. Akabane may have been an idiot, but he was really strong. What the hell was he going to do?

Considering his very few options, he steeled himself to expect some pain. Wasn't like he'd never got the shit kicked out of him before. By Akabane. Shit. He cupped his hands around his mouth and lowered his voice a few octaves.

"OI! POLICE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING OVER THERE?"

Akabane looked like he'd just been hit by a train, jumping back immediately and sprinting like his life depended on it.

Well. That went better than Ryosuke thought it would.

Quickly shaking his head, he jumped from behind the metal structure and hurried over to the person's side, who was still quietly making noises of distress as he clutched at his face. "Oi, you okay? Oi?" Ryosuke frantically clutched at the person's shoulder and tried to remove the hand blocking the injury, eventually prying it off as the person fought him with all his might. "Mizusawa! Mizusawa, it's me! Oi! Calm down!"

"Tsuki…Tsukimori…?" Mizusawa whispered softly, finally relaxing a little, but still half out of it with pain. He'd never been kicked in the face before—that was something his father would never do, if only to avoid leaving visible bruises. It hurt. More than anything he'd ever felt before. "It hurts…" he mumbled, tears forming unbidden as blood poured from the left side of his mouth where his teeth had cut a long gash along the inside of his cheek.

"Okay. Okay. Umm…we…we need to get you to a hospital or—"

"No!" Mizusawa cried, wincing violently at the pain and the thought. "I'm…I'll be fine. I'm fine. Fine," he repeated, as though it were a recording. Ignoring Ryosuke's panicked look, he made to get up, but only made it half way before he had to pause, breathing hard, blood still dripping messily from his mouth. "Fine. I have to be…fine."

Ryosuke made to help him but stopped, not sure where else he might have been hurt.

"You don't…have to touch me…" Mizusawa breathed erratically. "You don't have to…dirty…" He swayed, almost collapsing, before Ryosuke rushed forward and looped Mizusawa's arm around his shoulder, frowning at the smaller boy's little yelp of discomfort and at what he just heard.

"Baka!" he frowned. "What the hell are you saying? Where is your house?"

"No…m'fine…Fine…" Mizusawa mumbled. Ryosuke sighed.

"My place it is, then. Your ass is lucky I live on the first floor."

"No! I…I don't…you hate me. You don't have to act like this…" Mizusawa slurred confusedly, trying to pull away, only to have Ryosuke tighten his hold.

"What bullshit are you spouting," Ryosuke growled angrily, supporting virtually all of Mizusawa's weight as he propelled them both forward. It was less difficult than he thought it would be, due to the fact that Mizusawa couldn't have weighed more than most of the girls he went out with, and he'd had to take them home when they were drunk on more than one occasion. "You avoid me at practice and _I _hate_ you_? That's rich. That's great. Shut the fuck up and let me carry you, fatty."

Two blocks of sweating and cursing on Ryosuke's part, dropping his keys five million freaking times before getting the door open, and sending his pissed off mother back to bed, and he finally got Mizusawa Taku into his room, almost throwing the dead weight down onto his bed before, still breathing hard, he retrieved his small medicine kit from his closet. Being a yankee, he needed it more often than he should have. "Okay, now what…" he wondered aloud, worry increasing ten-fold when he realized Mizusawa had passed out completely.

Flipping on the light, he decided to just do what he'd known he'd have to all along, grabbing scissors from the kit, cutting off Mizusawa's shirt rather than try and remove it by pulling it over his head. He'd had it done to him numerous times, lost a lot of good shirts because of it, but it had saved him a lot of unnecessary pain.

His brow grew increasingly furrowed as he recognized bruising from a large foot covering both sides of Mizusawa's abdomen, one set of marks fresh and still bright red, but more were yellowed, a few green, showing that it had happened repeatedly, over time. If there was one thing Ryosuke knew, it was the colors bruises turned as they healed. He'd had to see the order so many times thanks to Wataru's fiery tendency to say what came directly to his mind rather than run it through a filter.

But then. Why would…Mizusawa was rich, right? He was a pretentious, cold, gay goody-two-shoes that followed the rules and generally stayed out of the way. But. This just didn't make sense. Ryosuke shook his head again, pushing aside his questions for the moment. Mizusawa needed some serious doctoring.

Pulling bruise cream from the small case, he rubbed it between his fingers to warm it up so it wouldn't shock the unconscious boy into wakefulness, then carefully applied it over his abdomen, ignoring the way Mizusawa's skin felt soft like a girl's, yet firm with layer upon layer of muscle. He tried really hard to be gentle, but Mizusawa was clearly hurting, twisting to try and escape even in his unconscious state.

"I know it hurts…I'm sorry. But I have to do it, okay? So just be a man, will ya'?" Ryosuke frowned again, this time in concentration as used two fingers to rub gently over a swollen red injury on Mizusawa's shoulder. Tumbling…would be impossible for a while. He then focused his attention on Mizusawa's face.

Then entire left side was swollen almost comically, and blood was spattered and dried gruesomely over Mizusawa's chin and neck, spilling onto Ryosuke's bed sheets. Ryosuke felt sharp pangs of empathy for Mizusawa's situation, coupled with fierce rage at Akabane and whoever else had done this to his friend. Was Mizusawa being bullied now because people found out he was gay? Why wouldn't he tell anyone? Wataru, at least for protection…or…_or me_, he thought gloomily. _He thinks I hate him_.

Ryosuke fled to the kitchen where he filled a towel with ice, additionally wetting it with cold water. He pulled the strongest painkillers he could find from his cabinet, left over from when he'd had to have surgery to get his appendices out. Mizusawa was going to be in an unbearable amount of pain when he woke up. Honestly, Ryosuke was dreading it.

Returning to his room, he carefully positioned the ice pack to where Mizusawa's cheek was lying on it, head turned on its side, and tried to wipe some of the thicker patches of blood from his pale face. That was when he noticed it. On Mizusawa's other cheek, faint but definitely there, was the bluish outline of a hand, thumb cut off at the curve of Mizusawa's jaw. Fuck. Was it Akabane? Was it a bully? They didn't have to treat him like this. Even if Mizusawa was gay, he didn't deserve…_this_.

Sure, Ryosuke had been a little grossed out at first. Okay. A lot grossed out. But…he would never…he couldn't imagine someone beating someone up this bad just because they liked boys. It was…it was stupid. And Mizusawa…never really hurt anyone. No, Mizusawa had only ever tried to help…And the whole Kiyama thing, he didn't even say anything about it to the group. He was trying to deal with it on his own. He never even…he never complained, when he thought that they all hated him. He tried to help, to the end.

But still…Ryosuke couldn't understand how Mizusawa could like boys. Just the thought of it made him uncomfortable, gave him this weird feeling in his chest. No, girls were much better. Were cute, were sexy. Soft. But Mizusawa…

Ryosuke jerked a little as Mizusawa shifted positions slightly on his bed, soon settling back down. Eyeing his totally destroyed body, Ryosuke pulled his phone from his pocket and carefully scanned through each number. He needed to tell someone. Even he was smart enough to know that. But who? Who would know what to do?

END PART 2

*of course I'm not happy with it, but you awesome people deserve an update*


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